The Love of His Glory
by jayelletee
Summary: Briseis, a priestess in the Temple of Apollo and the niece of King Priam of Troy, is captured by the Greeks and given to Achilles, the greatest warrior ever known in history, as a slave. Will Briseis win his heart, or will eternal glory be more worthy?
1. Chapter 1

Introduction

No one knew then that a warrior could transcend time. He was set in their memories. His voice was fixed in the wind. The blood of his victims lay in the foundation of stone. This warrior was deemed a hero to his nation, a conqueror of his enemies and a man who coveted eternal glory more than anything else. This glory also walked hand in hand with his doom. History is his name alone.

Remember him.

Chapter 1

A light breeze blew in the air and swept the sand along the shore. The chariot of Apollo was nearly touching the horizon. However, there was one thing that obscured the beautiful scenery: a fleet of a thousand ships sent only for one reason—to retrieve the wife of Menelaus, King of Sparta, or otherwise kill all who stands in the way. Helen of Sparta, under the influence of the goddess, Aphrodite, fell in love with Paris, son of King Priam, and stole away with him to Troy.

The war began 8 years ago. It was still raging when a group of Greek soldiers, led by the mighty Achilles, decided to sack the Temple of Apollo to disgrace the Trojans since the god of light was Troy's object of worship. Unfortunately for a young priestess, she chose the wrong time to be praying in the shady sanctuary.

Loud wails could be heard down the short hall. Briseis, niece of King Priam, was jolted out of her peace. She whipped her head around to see the temple's caretaker's throat being slit. Before she could protest or call for help, a strong hand wrapped around her mouth.

"Quiet, girl! Or you'll be next!" the man behind her threatened.

Briseis had no choice but to oblige since she was gagged by her captor's hand. He dragged her to a corner, tied her arms and legs with ropes, which were conveniently placed nearby, and stuffed her mouth with a piece of cloth. Much to her horror, she had to watch every killing the Greeks wreaked upon the servants in the temple.

Finally, out of the private room where the priest of Apollo resided, a warrior with a tall, strong stature and gold, shoulder-length hair pulled an old man along by his feet. The soldier dropped his hold after towing the priest to the middle of the floor. He called to a nearby comrade to hand him his spear. Taking it, without a blink of guilt, he drove the spear into the heart of the old man.

Briseis shrieked in her pain of loss and disgust. Although the cloth muffled the noise she made, this caught the warrior's attention.

"Who is she?" he asked his comrades but looked pointed at the girl.

"She's one of the priestesses that serves here in this temple. However, she's the only one we've found," one of the men explained. The blond warrior nodded to Briseis's captor to relieve her of the stuffed cloth.

Once free of the gag, Briseis shouted, "You evil, vile, excuse of a man! Apollo will have his way with you!"

Slowly, taking every step dramatically, the target of her words walked towards her. Looking down at her arrogantly, he scoffed, "Brave of you to swipe at me like that, or very foolish." He waited for her response, but she didn't give him that satisfaction. "You don't know who am I, do you?"

"You're just another one of them Greek dogs who jumps at a chance to carry out any of Agamemnon's orders." Briseis spat.

Anger flitted in the warrior's eyes. He raised his hand and brought it down hard on her face. Briseis's lip split, and a trickle of blood slipped down her mouth. Tears of pain welled up in her eyes. Soon, a red print formed on her left cheek. "Take her," he ordered two of the men standing closest to her. "I might find her useful." He glanced back one last time, scowled, and walked out of the temple into the fast approaching dusk.

Unable to resist, Briseis was hoisted to her feet and taken away from her sacred chantry. Outside, she scanned the aftermath before her of the day's tragedy. Bodies were scattered over the shore of Troy. The Trojan soldiers were retreating back to their city while the Greeks trudged back to their tents set up on the beach. Many of them stayed behind to collect the corpses and total the death toll. Looking sadly back at her city, Briseis knew she wouldn't be able to be within those strong, protective walls again for a long while.

They pushed her through the flap of the tent, tripping, since her feet were still tied. Strapping her to the pole of the tent, the two soldiers left her in her own predicament. She took in her new home and found it to be quite furnished. The bed, to her right, was made from very think layers of fur and blankets. To her left was a large, wooden trunk. In front of her were a table, a badly carved wooden chair, and the entrance to the tent. On the table were a bowl of fruit and a basin. Looking above her, she noticed the hole through which she could see the sky. Clearly, she was sitting where the fire should be made.

Sighing, she began to try to wiggle out of her bindings. It was futile. All she did was scrape the skin around her wrists off, making her position even more agonizing. "Curse you, Agamemnon! I'm sorry your brother wasn't good enough to keep his wife in his own bed! Maybe one of your dogs could help you out!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. Hoping perhaps the king could actually hear her.

"My, my, coming from a priestess," commented a voice.

Briseis's head snapped up as she realized she wasn't the only audience to her little vent of frustration. She glared up at the man who'd slapped her previously.

He smirked at her and crouched down next to her. She leaned as far away from him as her tied arms made available. This only made it more amusing for him as he undid the rope's knots. Once free, Briseis jumped to her feet and backed into a corner.

"Are you afraid of me?" he raised his brow.

She drew herself up to her full height, which wasn't even past the warrior's lower lip. "Should I be?" she said in a calm tone. Licking her lips, she tasted the blood he had spilt. Briseis saw the man's eyes twinkle as she gave her answer in the form of a rhetorical question.

Taking off his armour and revealing his toned torso, he said, "You are the only Trojan who can say that."


	2. Chapter 2

The heavens dimmed to a blue hue as the sun started to sink beneath the horizon. Among the Greek campsite, fires were being built and the smell of food was hanging heavy in the air. In one particular tent, the atmosphere was not as cheery.

"You are the only Trojan who can say that." The blond warrior turned from the priestess hiding in the shadows and began to wash is blood-covered arms in the water basin.

"How very kind of you," the girl replied, slicked with sarcasm. She took a small step towards him, proving that she wasn't afraid.

The man hesitated as he brought the wet washcloth to his left bicep, but continued with a smirk. "You spend years talking down to men. You must be royalty," he deduced.

Walking towards her, he picked up a few strands of her hair and its aroma reached his nostrils. Trying hard to resist, Briseis stood her ground, not backing down.

"You are royalty," he placed his calculating eyes on hers.

Briseis shifted her head, pulling her hair out of his grasp. She held her head up high and said, "I am the daughter of Hesione and Telamon. King Priam is my uncle."

The warrior laughed. "I see it now. Both weak and both very stubborn." He circled around her. "You know he can't hide long behind those walls," he said tauntingly.

"Apollo built that wall himself along with Poseidon. You will never be able to breach it." She glared up at him.

"We shall see as time pass." His eyes glittered as the last beam of daylight caught his blue irises.

Briseis didn't like the look in his eyes at all. He seemed so certain of himself. But she didn't let this fear show on her face. "We shall."

"What is your name?" inquires the man, changing the subject.

She refused to answer him.

"Did you not hear me?" he said a little louder as he took of the linen that was wrapped around his waist.

"You killed Apollo's priests," she stated simply, failing badly to disguise her discomfort of his naked presence.

"I kill men and soldiers. Don't care about priests." He began to run the washcloth down his torso.

Briseis made the mistake to turn around and look at him. "Sun God will have his vengeance."

"What's he waiting for?" he asked, a bit impatient at her persistence of the power of the gods.

Briseis forced herself to look at him. "A right time to strike."

He refreshed his face with a splash of water. "His priests are dead and his acolyte is a captive. I think your dear god is afraid of me." He looked over at her challengingly.

She looked at him as if he were stupid. "Afraid? Apollo is the master of the sun. There's nothing He—"

"Where is He!" he interrupted her. Water dripped down his chin as his tolerance for her ranting was spent.

"You're nothing but a killer!" she spat. "You wouldn't know anything about the gods." She looked away, angered by his disrespect.

Out of spite, he flicked a shower of water in her direction with his hand. Finally, he picked a clean, navy blue cloth and tied it around the middle of his body. "You haven't seen twenty summers and you think you know me? I know more about the gods than your priests." He advanced up to her. "I've seen them." This time, the girl took a step back. He softened at this. "What's your name?" he asked again. At her silence, he coaxed, "Come, even servants of Apollo must have names."

At this, she finally answered, "Briseis."

The curtain to the tent was swept aside as one of the previous soldiers who'd brought her there stepped in. "My lord, the king requests your," his eyes shifted to Briseis, "presence." With that, he bid his leave.

"What do you want here in Troy?" she questioned. "You didn't come here for the Spartan queen." She thought of all the soldiers that came with Agamemnon and his brother.

"I want what all men want. I just want it more." He looked her in the eye.

Briseis caught the flicker of sadness in his eyes. It came all too fast and left all too early, but she saw it nonetheless. "Who are you?"

"Achilles."

She took a sharp intake of breath. So this was the man all other men feared, the greatest warrior ever known. The one rumored who cannot be killed, whose mother is a Nereid, retinue of Poseidon himself. She took another step back.

Taking one last look at her, he said, "No need to fear me, Briseis." He walked to the opening of the tent and before leaving, pointed to the bowl of fruit. "Eat."

King Agamemnon lived on his ship that was pulled onto the shore. Achilles arrived as night fell. Inside, the allies of Mycenae were offering gifts to their leader.

"Thank you, old friend. Tomorrow, we will eat supper in the gardens of Troy." The king smiled down on his kneeling ally. Looking up, he caught the sight of Achilles, who was glaring at his display. His smile faded away. "Leave us," he declared curtly to all that was present. Quickly, they dispersed out of the room.

Odysseus, a long time companion of Achilles, walked up to the warrior, chuckling. "War is young men dying and old men talking. You know this. Ignore the politics," he addressed about the offerings, knowing his friend's distaste for the king's lavish presentations.

Achilles patted the man's back, thanking his attempt to calm his frustrations with the king. Odysseus left the room as Achilles approached the king's seat. "Apparently you won some great victory."

"Have you not seen the Trojans desperately trying to regain their shore but fail every year?" Agamemnon cocked his eyebrows.

"I didn't come here for sand. You can have the beach." The warrior began to pace in front of him, clearly annoyed that he was called out to this.

"No, you came here so your name would be remembered throughout the ages."

Achilles stopped. He saw the slight smirk on the king's face.

"The victory of these past 8 years is not yours. Kings did not kneel down to Achilles. Kings did not pay homage to Achilles," Agamemnon said with a loud voice. The smirk was gone.

"Perhaps the kings were too far behind to see. The soldiers won the battle," he said calmly, not even slightly moved by the rising impetuosity of the king.

"History remembers kings, not soldiers!" He shot up from his seat and walked down the short steps to where Achilles stood. "Tomorrow I'll batter down the gates of Troy. I'll build monuments of victory on every island of Greece. I'll carve Agamemnon in the stones!"

"Be careful King of kings," he warned in a hush tone, "first you need the victory."


End file.
